


Only Liars

by Pidonyx



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Gen, One Shot, a family can be a repressed wlw a criminal lesbian and an old emo, i just wanted to write abt the morally ambiguous gays of talon, reaper is. a dad, this is super short whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 13:28:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18941947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pidonyx/pseuds/Pidonyx
Summary: Sombra is injured on a mission.





	Only Liars

**Author's Note:**

> lol hi here take this
> 
> when have i ever not lied to myself and said i was gonna focus on my big projects only to get distracted by a) a new one or b) a tangential one shot involving my Favorite Characters
> 
> anyways here i guess i promise i’m trying to get some longer stuff out
> 
> title is from “our lawyer made us change the name of this song so we wouldn’t get sued” by fall out boy

“Sombra. Time to move.” Widowmaker’s voice is coming from above and to the left, out of Sombra’s line of vision where she is currently face-down on the floor of the abandoned warehouse they’re in.

 

Fighting against the ringing in her ears and forcing a lazy grin onto her face, Sombra pushes herself up to an elbow. “Right away,  _araña_ .” She manages to get her knees underneath her, but as soon as she tries to get any further than that, a wave of pain so intense her vision goes black sweeps over her, and despite her best efforts she can’t stop a strangled sound from escaping her throat.

 

There’s the sharp clicking of heels against concrete and then Widow’s blurry figure is looming over her. She clicks her tongue, the muzzle of her rifle coming to rest on the stone a scant few inches from Sombra’s head. “Enough games, Sombra. Extraction is in three.” Her voice is no louder than it usually is, which is to say soft — their superiors would probably call it “calm”, Sombra would more correctly identify it as “unobtrusive” — but the growing headache behind Sombra’s eyes spikes along with the pain in her stomach as she shifts slightly. The intended reply is cut off with a cough, and she draws the arm not propping her up away from her abdomen to see dark, slick fluid coating the surface of her palm.

 

Widowmaker huffs in as close as she gets to frustration, reaching out to grab Sombra’s arm and attempt to tug her to a standing position. 

 

“No, you don’t understand, I’m not exa—“ she cuts herself off with a muffled scream at the movement, burying her face in her braced arm, breathing going ragged. Widowmaker seems startled, stepping back a few paces before turning and muttering something quick and quiet into her comm. 

 

Through focusing on steadying her breathing, Sombra catches a few snatches of the short, one-sided conversation, including “I believe she may actually be injured,” and “I am no good at this, please come quickly”.

 

She is breathing heavily with her forehead still pressed to her forearm, free hand pressed shakily against the slight pulse in her stomach, when there’s a footfall near her head. She raises her head slightly, just enough to see the outline of a heavy silver boot. 

 

“Sombra.”

 

“‘M fine, boss.” She draws a breath, trying to tilt the edge of her mouth enough to corroborate her words. “Just a little cut, really.” 

 

Reaper drops to a crouch next to her, bone-white mask swimming into view. He looks at her for a moment, dark eyeholes impassive. “Can you walk?” The tone is as flat as ever, but quieter than Sombra’s used to. 

 

She presses her lips together, squints up at him. She sighs through her nose, and doesn’t answer.

 

Reaper sighs, longer and distinctly more irritated than Sombra’s. “Can you  walk , Sombra.”

 

She grits her teeth, lowering her eyes back down to the splashes of blood on her arm. “...No,” she says, voice low. “ _No sé si puedo moverme_ _,_ ” she admits, eyes darting to where Widowmaker is staring blankly off towards the horizon, both hands resting on the base of Widow’s Kiss. 

 

Reaper makes a noncommittal noise. “Hm.” He regards her for another second. He doesn’t move, but his voice is even quieter when he replies. “ _Voy a tratar de levantarte. Dime si es demasiado, entendido_ _?_ ”

 

“Got it.” Sombra manages a genuine smile, just a twist of the lips to try to convey her gratitude at his humoring her.

 

Reaper gives her a single nod, as unreadable as ever, then stands. 

 

Sombra closes her eyes and clamps her jaw, even so allowing a choked noise that’s suspiciously close to a sob to escape when Reaper picks her up. She curls in on herself, panting, a rush of dizziness leaving her reeling for a moment. When she can see properly again, she’s slightly surprised to notice that Reaper is actually being careful with her. She squeezes both arms around her torso, still losing blood, gut clenching at the squelching noise the action produces.

 

Reaper is speaking to Widowmaker, instructing her to “call ahead, have them move the extraction point. She needs a doctor sooner rather than later.” 

 

A jolt shudders down Sombra’s spine, and she raises a hand to weakly tug at Reaper’s hood. The mask tilts towards her, and she shakes her head as emphatically as she can manage, wincing at the stab of pain in her skull. “ _Not her,_ ” she whispers, trying to sound as urgent as she feels. “ _I can’t see her_ .” 

 

Reaper sounds annoyed when he all but growls back, “Sombra, do you want to die? Why can’t you see her?”

 

As best as she can, Sombra gives a pointed look, first at him, then at Widow, mouth pressed in a firm line.

 

Mask leveled ahead once again, Reaper grunts an assent. “Do you have another plan?”

 

She gives him a look, eyebrows raised. 

 

He snarls, shoulders rising defensively, voice dropping to a hiss. “ _Absolutely not, we are not going to see Mercy, of all people,_ lo que en nombre de dios está mal contigo —“

 

Sombra coughs, fingers slackening for a moment in their grip on the black leather of Reaper’s hood, and he huffs a long-suffering sigh, muttering a curse under his breath before addressing Widowmaker again. “Call the dropship. Tell them to vacate the premises and not to ask questions — under my authority.”

 

Despite a mildly bored look towards the two of them, that Sombra sees through steadily darkening vision, Widow seems unfazed by the request and does as asked. 

 

“ _Me debes. Espera, okay?_ ”

 

Sombra’s field of vision is fading, pulsing lazily like a heartbeat, but a slightly sloppy grin finds its way into her face, and she manages a wheeze of laughter. “You got it boss.  _No moriré en tu cuidado, ¿eh?_ ”

 

The blank glower of Reaper’s mask, stark like a lighthouse beacon in the dim shadows of Cairo’s back streets, is the last thing she sees before she blacks out, but just before slipping into unconsciousness, she swears she hears Reaper mutter under his breath. 

 

_“Hang in there, kid. Help is on the way.”_


End file.
